“You look, and soon these two worlds both leave you
one part climbs toward heaven, one sinks to earth.”
—Rainier Maria Rilke, Sunset
Tonight, we ask questions of God.
The sun rose in the East this morning
and cast a long shadow to the West.
We know their hands pressed to the floor
as the sun set red over a mosque in Quebec City,
but by nightfall, they would not rise again.
Even with faith we have no answers. We try to find
understanding through our shared rituals
of mourning and remembering:
a community clasps hands around a city block,
a gathering light candles to overcome what haunts us,
a family prepares to bury their loved ones.
This sunset is a dark red stain on the aged cotton of their clothes.
We sink low to the earth drowned in the blackest of nights—
we look for stars, but with heads bowed,
we see none.